


Midnight

by Laurasauras



Series: 2019 Holiday ficlets [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21790168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: For the second day of Christmas, the Signless invites Spades Slick over.
Relationships: The Signless | The Sufferer/Spades Slick
Series: 2019 Holiday ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569544
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Midnight

#### 2nd Day of Christmas: Midnight

‘Slick,’ he says.

You sigh and wheel your heel around, no fuckin’ point pretending you haven’t heard this guy. There’s nothin’ quiet about the Signless and you ain’t about avoiding problems anyway. Besides, you barely even want to stab this one. You ask him what a fella like him is doing out so late, isn’t this prime traffic time for the greyfolk? He narrows his eyes at you. 

‘It’s not safe out tonight, not even for you. Come home with me.’

You tell him that sure sounds like an invitation, but you’re a busy guy. Errands to run, torsos to stab, he knows how it is. You wave a careless hand and start to walk away, but the fucker doesn’t care about looking like an idiot so he runs up to you and grabs your wrist. You say that’s my wrist. 

‘I know, and I’m going to give you the option to use your own fucking walkstubs or I’ll carry you like a sack of ground apples.’

You look coolly down at where his graspers have a fairly firm grip on you and decide that this isn’t the day that you hear the Signless tell a lie. You express your sincere disappointment in his inconveniencing you and think about drawing a blade, but you know that there’s a higher price attached to stabbing this one than the others. You tell him your _legs_ are perfectly fucking dandy so you’ll thank him to trust them to do their business.

And you’re not wild about the hand holding thing if he could perhaps give that a fucking rest.

‘Liar,’ he says, smirking at you. ‘Come on, asshole, my family’ll be worried.’

What’s so special about tonight you ask. You’d noticed something was off well before he’d approached you, you’re equipped with a functioning set of oculars as well as the aforementioned legs, but a night’s a night’s a night in these parts. You frankly can’t see how Alternia could get any _more_ predisposed to bloodshed. It’s a place you’re fairly fond of. 

‘It’s Perigee’s eve,’ he says. ‘Which means that everyone and their lusus is looking for a token for their matesprit or kismesis, whichever tickles their fancy, and naturally the head of a mutant or whatever the fuck you are makes a fantastic present by most trolls’ reckoning.’

Yeah, your head’s plenty presentable you say. You walk alongside him as you make your way out of the outskirts of the city you were loitering in and towards the nearby forest. The twin moons’ light is fractured by first slim and then more substantial trees. The Signless isn’t terrible company. He’s only a head taller than you, which you like in a man. 

You ask him if this is some kind of deal, you being with him and his cohort on Perishable Equinox. 

‘Perigee’s Eve,’ Signless corrects. He’s the kind of fucker who can’t let a thing go uncorrected, which makes it very amusing to set things crooked around him. ‘Not really. I have pretty relaxed standards about inclusion.’ 

Yeah, he seems to think every idiot on the planet is in the running to join his gang. You know, you say before he corrects you, it’s not a gang. It’s a _family._ But you’re not seriously included in that estimation, are you?

‘Of course you are, Slick,’ he says, frowning at you. ‘What, you think because you’re bladekind happy that we don’t have room in our fucking pump-biscuits for you? Fuck you, Slick, our pump-biscuits are so spacious you could fit a fucking behemoth just in the foyer.’

You sigh heavily, but you don’t hate the Signless and the thought of hiding your feelings in any way strikes you as below your dignity. Nothing badass about being unable to express yourself, that’s your policy. 

You don’t hate his family either, you reluctantly admit as he holds his hand out for you to brace yourself on as you climb into the cave they’ve got themselves set up in. Always with the caves, this lot. The dame with the triangle horns has a knack for caves. It’s an intimate night for the Signless clan, only her, the collection of elbows stuffed in a jumpsuit you call Sparks and Ms Maryam, whose hand you kiss once you’re inside. Signless shoves you away from his “mother” and then manhandles you towards the fire. He’s a manhandler and you certainly should protest it more than you do. 

Sometimes you miss your own crew, useless scumbags though they were. Something about the Signless makes you feel a little less alone, a little less alien on a planet full of greyfolk. So you let the Signless manhandle you into something a fool might call an embrace sitting next to the campfire. You make a toothless remark hoping that they’ve considered the ventilation of the cave and he just nuzzles into the softer shell of your neck. You don’t know if he’s wise enough to know you don’t let most folk anywhere near your softer parts, but he should, living on a planet like this. 

‘Thanks for coming, Slick.’

Not like he gave you a choice you say. Some assholes would find it mighty ironic to thank someone for choosing the walk option when the only other one was be carried you say. 

‘Some assholes should know that if they truly didn’t want to come I wouldn’t have forced the issue.’

Yeah, well. You couldn’t let him go without the opportunity to be a mother hen. Not on Prejudice Afternoon.

 _’Perigee’s Eve,’_ he growls. ‘You’re a fucking nightmare, Slick. Why on Alternia do I love you.’

Because he loves everyone on this dumbshit planet you say. But you’ll consider being on slightly better behaviour if he’s really this close to losing his cool. Not that he ever had any.

‘You’re a gentleman,’ he says wryly.

Yeah, you know. Look, it might not count for much as it doesn’t exist anymore, but you wouldn’t be ashamed to make him a member of the Midnight Crew.

He picks up your hand and presses your palm to his cheek, forcing you to meet those achingly sincere red eyes of his. 

‘It means everything, Slick.’


End file.
